Finding Solace
by Danae3
Summary: When a night out proves fatal, Dick Grayson returns to Gotham to recover... and to figure out where his future lies. Will he ever come back? RobRae nonromance Bruce WayneBatman features.
1. Chapter 1 Soliloquy

I knew this guy once, back in Gotham, Chad Wallace, who thought it would be cool to have a secret identity. This was right after some reporter caught a fuzzy picture of Batman talking to Commissioner Gordon. The picture wasn't great and Batman was standing so far in the shadow that you could barely see him, but that picture was run on the front of all the newspapers in Gotham. Anyway, this guy, Chad, was sitting in Biology class with the newspaper open in front of him instead of helping to dissect the fetal pig in front of us. None of us in the group really cared. Chad was kind of weird, but he was big on the whole concept of having a secret identity, saying that nobody would ever know who you were, so you could do anything you wanted. The city could be your playground, which brought up all kinds of philosophical questions.

See, we've always been taught that character is determined by what you do when nobody's looking, which is true. But Chad said that it brought up whole new issues, because which is the true self, the public persona or the secret identity? And if Batman is really just some Joe off the street trying to do some good, does that make him better than if he's a cop playing vigilante when he's not walking the beat?

That was one of the prevalent theories, that Batman was a cop, but Chad said that as long as Batman had been in the game, he'd probably lost his former self, thought of himself only in terms of Batman and non-Batman, that he was tired of playing the act of "normal guy" for the sake of society. That was what Chad thought was cool, leaving behind the social preconceptions of what was acceptable, donning a mask, and just being yourself without worrying about judgment because nobody knew it was you. That all those people who kicked you around in school would look up to you as a hero, but you could laugh at them inside, because if they really knew who you were, they'd laugh before ever accepting help.

Chad killed himself not long before I left Gotham. Tied a sheet around his neck like a cape, put a Lone Ranger mask over his eyes, and took a flying leap off one of the taller buildings in the metropolitan area. I guess he was tired of being Chad, thought if he tried hard enough, he could be somebody different. Or maybe for those moments before his death, he wanted to feel like a hero flying over a city that never really knew him.

I think he may have been one of the smartest people I've ever met, just a step below Bruce, but miles above most people. Not because he killed himself, but because he understood more than I did what it meant to wear a mask. He understood that part of it was living and doing, and part of it was hiding; not just from everyone else, but from yourself just a little bit. I mean, could he really have made that jump without the sheet around his neck and the flimsy Halloween mask? He knew he couldn't fly, but I think it gave him courage he wouldn't have had otherwise.

Yeah, courage. You see, unlike most people who judged Chad as being scared or depressed, I saw him on top of that building. He wasn't hard to miss, seeing as there are only a handful of people who spend much time on rooftops, but yeah, I saw him, just too late to realize what was happening and what exactly he was doing. He stepped right up to the edge, spread his arms as if he stood on a diving board, and jumped. I swung down after him, but was astonished to see him tuck himself into a ball and flip his body over. I half thought he'd pull out of it and start to fly up, like a true meta-human. I was still several feet away when he hit the pavement with a sickening crack. I don't remember much what happened next. Just sitting in the Batcave with Alfred handing me a cup of hot tea. Apparently, Batman found me perched on someone's balcony, staring down at the mayhem below.

I still see it, sometimes, when I close my eyes. The blood, the broken body. I still hear him striking the pavement, hearing his skull crack like a melon dropped accidentally. And strangely, I still see him tucking into that ball and flipping over, staring up at me through that plastic mask with that strange smile, like he was really happy for the first time.

My name is Robin, and like Chad, I've stood on the edge of many rooftops in my career as a crimefighter. And like Chad, I've jumped, feeling the rush as I flew through the air without a net, something I hadn't felt since my family died, but I've always had a backup, someone I could rely on. For the longest time, it was Batman. Now, it's the Titans, my friends.

But Chad was right. So long as you're wearing a mask, you're hiding. When you take the mask off, are you the same person?

My name is Robin, and like Chad, I'm standing on the edge of a building, a cape around my neck, a mask on my face. The question is, if I jump, who is flying through the air, Robin, crimefighter? Or Dick Grayson, former circus star turned orphan? Which side of me is jumping and which side of me is shooting out the swing line so I swing instead of fall? Because, God help me, I don't think it's the same side.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mail call!" Beast Boy called merrily, bounding into the room as a large green Labrador.

"Is it necessary for you to drool on our mail?" Raven asked, eyeing the soggy envelopes in his mouth.

"I'll have you know, it's normal to have a dog chase the mailman when he comes near a house," came the answer as the dog popped into a short pointy-eared teenager.

"It's also normal to have a dog neutered so he'll settle down from destructive behavior."

He stuck his tongue out, then began sorting through the envelopes in his hand.

"Junk mail. Junk mail. _Popular Mechanics _for Cyborg Junk mail. Fan mail for Star. Fan mail for Robin. Fan mail for Robin. Junk mail. Black envelope that hopefully contains a curse for Raven." He stopped, his eyes landing on a large manilla envelope at the bottom of the stack. "Hello. Looks like one of my fans sent me-." He turned the envelope over and read the address. "A package for the Boy Wonder," he finished blandly, dropping the rather large envelope and two fan letters in Robin's lap, who had been sitting nearby with his headphones on, ignoring the insults Raven and Beast Boy had been sharing

With the mail in his lap, however, he lowered his headphones to his neck and leaned forward, turning down the volume to his music slightly. He automatically dropped the fan mail to the floor beside him. He scented envelopes and loopy handwriting told him they didn't hold anything of importance. The larger envelope, however…

He slipped his thumb under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a second, this one a much smaller sort used with stationary, addressed not to Robin, but to Dick Grayson. The blood drained from his face, and for a moment, he simply stared at the name he hadn't used since becoming a Titan.

"Who is this Dick Grayson, Robin?" Starfire asked from over his shoulder. "And why is his name sent to you in such a mysterious fashion?"

Robin blinked at her misunderstanding, not really wanting to correct it. He didn't really want to explain that it was the address, and that it was sent to Dick Grayson- him, that there was a letter inside from someone who had known him by that name.

"Come on, Starfire," Raven's voice cut through the silence. "Let's leave Robin with his little mystery."

"But-."

"Maybe Beast Boy will play fetch with us," she suggested with mock-cheer, practically pushing the Tamaranian out the door. She paused by the door and glanced back at Robin. He had turned the envelope over in his hands and raised his eyes to where she stood, then turned and disappeared down the corridor to his room.

₪₪₪₪

Alone in his room, Robin sat at his desk, staring at the still unopened envelope. Who would have sent it to him? The only people who knew who he was were Bruce and Alfred, but neither of them would have addressed a letter to "Dick Grayson" and sent it to Titan Tower. Hell, they had more reliable ways of communication, if they ever needed them. It wasn't like they talked daily.

There were no discernible traps about it, as he had examined it closely. Once again, he found it in his hands, staring at the handwriting that seemed distantly familiar. Finally seeing no other way to discover its secret, Robin tore it open, his eyes widening as they skipped automatically to the bottom to discover who had penned a letter to Dick Grayson at Titan Tower.

₪₪₪₪

"You owe me." Robin had been so absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn't heard Raven until she spoke to him, but even then, he did not move from his perch atop Titan Tower. "I had to play fetch for over an hour."

"Thanks, Raven." He heard her move closer to him until she stood just within his peripheral vision.

"So- Dick Grayson, huh?" He made no reply. "It's not exactly the name I would have imagined for you-."

"Do you need something, Raven?" he demanded suddenly, more angrily than he had meant. She was staring down at him, her short raven hair blowing about her face, her cloak billowing behind her in the wind.

"Just wondering if you were okay, but since you seem like your old moody self, I'll leave." She was almost to the door when she heard him answer.

"I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind."

"More than usual?"

"More personal than usual." Without quite knowing why, he handed her the letter he had received earlier in the day. She took it, glancing at him curiously, and unfolded the thin stationary.

_Dear Dick,_

_I am sending this letter through Alfred. I would have sent it on my own, but the last letter I sent to you was returned, addressee unknown. I figured that if anyone knew where to find you, he would. For a butler, he seems to know everything._

_I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for college in a few months. Princeton. Can you believe it? Sara Arthur is going to Princeton! My father is so proud. But I guess you probably know that's not actually why I'm writing. Maybe it's fear of going somewhere that I won't know anyone, or a necessity to tie up loose ends, but I haven't been able to get you out of my mind lately. Especially since it's been so long since we've spoken. I talked to Brian, and he said the same thing. Neither of us has heard from you in a long time. We don't even know if you're still in Jump City._

_Dick, I've been angry at you for a very long time for cutting off communication with us, but I still need to know that you're okay. Brian and I still consider you our friend. _

_Before I leave for school, I want to come see you. It doesn't have to be any big deal. I just want to spend a day or two with you, to see how you are- so I can tell Brian that you're doing well. And, so I can see that you're just too busy to write, which I'm sure you are. Send me a letter if it's alright. Send me a letter if it's not. Just don't be silent any longer._

_Sincerely, _

_Sara Elizabeth Arthur _

When Raven was done reading the letter, she looked up.

"Why are you so upset over this?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Probably not," she answered. "It's difficult to understand an old friend wanting to see me without wanting to kill me on sight, but then, you've always been the odd one of all of us."

"Thanks, Raven," Robin answered sarcastically.

"Is that why you're upset? Because she doesn't want to kill you?"

"Is this your idea of a pep talk?"

"It's as close as I come." She sat beside him, legs folded, and closed her eyes as if to meditate. "All I know is you're up here sulking because you got a letter from home, when there are three other Titans below us who would be ecstatic about the idea."

"Just three?" Robin glanced over, but Raven's eyes were still closed.

"If I got a letter from home, it would mean the apocalypse- not something that gives me a warm fuzzy feeling."

Robin smiled, but said nothing, nor did Raven push him. It was only when the silence was stretched to its limit that she spoke again.

"You're conflicted."

"How can you tell?"

"You're only quiet like this when you're conflicted- and if you were simply trying to think, you'd be blowing out your eardrums with your music."

"I'm becoming predictable." Robin ran a hand through his hair.

"No. Actually, I noticed when you saw your name on that envelope. You went pale." When he didn't answer, she opened her eyes and looked at him carefully. "It's just a name, Robin. Everyone has one. Do you think Cyborg's parents were cruel enough to name him that? Or Beast Boy?" The corner of his lips twitched just a bit as though trying to keep back a smile. "Never mind. Beast Boy might be a bad example. His parents did name him Garfield."

Robin smiled, but it faded quickly.

"I know it's just a name, Raven. It's just- it's not. I haven't gone by that since I left Gotham City. Everyone out here simply knows me as Robin. If it ever got out what my real name is, lives could be at stake."

"What are you? Rumpelstiltskin? It was just a name, Robin. And it's not like it was advertised on a billboard. This Sara doesn't know you by anything else, does she?" He shook his head. "So what's really going on?"

"I don't feel like Dick Grayson anymore."

"Psychoanalysts would have a field day with you."

"How's that?"

Raven sighed.

"You've been wearing that mask for so long, you've forgotten who you are without it."

"I value my privacy."

"It has nothing to do with privacy. You don't like feeling vulnerable." She closed her eyes again, exhaling slowly, while Robin simply stared at her. "When you're Dick Grayson, you have weaknesses- normal family, normal friends, embarrassing yearbook pictures. But with your mask, you can do what needs to be done without any emotional repercussions on yourself. You're Robin. You're a Titan. You can hide who you are behind who you should be."

"So what do I do?" He stared out over the harbor.

"Take off your mask. Take off your uniform. Just be good old Dick Grayson from Gotham City for two days." Raven stood. "And if you're still scared of someone figuring out who you are, maybe you should ask yourself if _you_ know who you are. Can you live with yourself without your mask?"

"That's tougher than it sounds."

"Honesty with ourselves always is."

"Thanks, Raven." Robin stood too, turning to face her. "That was really helpful."

"You're welcome." She managed a small smile as they walked toward the stair house. "Just don't tell anyone. I don't want them to think they can start coming to me with their problems."

"Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

A week later found Robin getting ready to meet Sara at her hotel. He had phoned her at home after speaking with Raven, and found her excited to hear from him. He hadn't realized either how good it was to hear a voice from home, and they ended up talking for over an hour. He had been looking forward to this night since hanging up with her, but now, he was beginning to feel nervous.

He growled at his reflection and shrugged out of the t-shirt he had been wearing. He had wanted to look casual, but a t-shirt made him look like he really couldn't care less to see her. He found a Polo and tugged it over his head. Then, on hands and knees, he began digging through the bottom of his closet in search of suitable shoes. He pulled out a sneaker and sat it next to an unmatched black dress shoe, then dove into the back of the closet.

Ten minutes later, wearing matching brown shoes, he grabbed the keys to the bike Bruce had bought him, stuffed a wallet with his Richard Grayson IDs and money into his back pocket, and headed out. He was stopped in the living room by Raven and Cyborg.

"Heading out?" Cyborg asked casually.

"Yeah. Meeting a friend," Robin answered. He turned to Raven. "How do I look?"

Raven looked up from her tea.

"Like a normal person. How do you feel?"

"Like I'm about to go out in center ring without a safety." He ran his fingers through his hair and seeing the confused looks on Raven and Cyborg's faces, sighed. "I'm nervous."

"Oookay. Next time, just say you're nervous." He snuck a glance at Raven, then looked back at the masked Titan before him. "You got your communicator?"

"Yeah, right here," Robin said, removing the palm sized com from his pocket.

"No you don't," Cyborg said, plucking it from his hand and tossing it to Raven.

"Hey! Give it back!"

"No. You're not a Titan tonight. You're just a normal teenager going out with a friend. I think we can manage without you for a few hours."

"But-."  
"No buts, Robin," Raven broke in. "That was the agreement. Going without the mask means going without the com- which means the mask has to come off as well."

Robin removed his mask and placed it too in Raven's hands.

"Aww, isn't that cute," Cyborg crooned. "He's got baby blues. So what do we call you, blue eyes?"

"Richard Grayson," he answered through clenched teeth.

"Richard?" The corner of Cyborg's mouth twitched. "So do you go by Rich or -"

"Shut it, Cy."

"- Dick?"

"That's it! I'm leaving!" He walked angrily toward the door.

"It's Dick, isn't it? You go by Dick?" The lift doors closed, cutting off Robin's reaction. Chuckling, Cyborg turned back toward Raven. "Boy, I enjoyed that. Thanks for letting me in."

"No problem."

₪₪₪₪

Richard Grayson sped down the boulevard on his 1200c Sportser, tempted to weave in and out of the traffic choking downtown Jump City, but deciding it wouldn't do him any good to get pulled over.

The tradeoff was that he was nearly fifteen minutes late. Sara didn't seem to mind, though. She had barely changed in the last year, and Dick picked her out as soon as he entered the lobby, despite the fact that she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck as soon as she spotted him.

"Dick, how are you?" she asked when she had finally disengaged herself. She practically glowed as she grinned up at him, her curly brown hair hanging past her shoulders, her glasses nearly sliding off her nose, which she pushed back up to her green eyes with a manicured finger.

"I'm good," he answered, grinning back. "You got your braces off!"

"Yeah, just a few weeks ago." She flashed him another smile and motioned toward the door. "Should we go get something to eat?"

"Yeah. I brought my bike, so we can pretty much go anywhere."

"Still living on the edge, huh Dick?" she joked rolling her eyes. Dick just laughed and followed her out of the lobby.

₪₪₪₪

"So, wait a minute," Dick Grayson said, his pizza lifted halfway between his plate and mouth. "You and Brian are dating now? When did this happen?"

"Actually, it happened because you weren't there to hang out with anymore." She wiped her mouth with her napkin. "It's hard to believe, I know, but we just kind of compliment each other. How 'bout you? Dating anyone?"

"Not really. I'm kind of busy out here for that." He bit into his pizza and looked up to find Sara staring unblinking over his shoulder. Dick turned around to see none other than Cyborg and Beast Boy standing at the counter waiting for a pizza. Dick turned quickly. He knew Cyborg wouldn't make a scene if he saw him, but one never knew with Beast Boy.

"Who are they?" Sara asked, studying them with interest.

"They're Titans," he answered. "I guess you could say they're the local superheroes."

"Kind of like Jump City's own Batman?"

"Yeah, but more of a team than a person."

"Is she one too?"

A glance over the shoulder wasn't necessary. The springy voice asking for mint ice cream on her pizza was enough to reveal the owner.

"I think so."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Well." She wiped her hands deliberately on the napkin in her lap, then gazed at the Titans in a thoughtful manner. "I just find it interesting, you know? I, like so many others, spend most of my life trying to develop some kind of self-confidence, and all it takes is a glance at people like that to remind me that I'm just a normal person. It's disheartening."

"There's nothing wrong with being a normal person."

"Not very reassuring coming from the guy who grew up in a circus."

"I don't see too many people envying me that."

"Really, Dick, don't you get pressures from Mr. Wayne to follow in his footsteps? I mean, there has to be more to life than being politicians and making money and trying to be powerful."

"One: I don't get pressure from Bruce to go into politics or even business. I think he just wants me to find something I'm happy with and that isn't too dangerous. Two: everybody has confidence issues at some point or other. Even superheroes. And three: if you don't want to go into politics, don't. Just remember that there's a lot of good that can be done with people like you in the right places."

"You are entirely too optimistic for your own good." Dick smirked at her.

"I guess I've been around Bruce too much."

₪₪₪₪

"So, I saw Robin and his friend at the pizza place," Cyborg said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Raven raised an eyebrow.

"What did Beast Boy and Starfire do?"

"I don't think they noticed him."

"Did he look like he was enjoying himself?"

"Couldn't tell. But he does fit in pretty well with the normal crowds. If I hadn't've seen him leave today, I wouldn't've known him."

"At least one of us can just be a regular person." She sipped her tea.

"Somethin' botherin' you, Rae?"

"Have you flown lately, Cyborg?" she asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"On a commercial flight with a hundred other people you don't know. Have you?"

"You know I'd never make it through the metal detectors."

"Have you ever wanted to?"

"Not really. There's not a whole lot of elbow room." He eyed her curiously. "What's up?"

"Have you noticed that of all of us, Robin is the most normal. He doesn't look different like you and Beast Boy. He doesn't have to keep himself in check all the time like me and Starfire. And yet, he's the only one who seems to think there's something wrong with being normal."

"Okay, Robin is not normal. How many spiky-haired midgets do you know who can go all kung-fu on your ass?"

"But he could hang it all up if he wanted to. He could be normal."

"Normal's overrated."

"Cyborg, if you had a chance to have a normal body again, would you take it?" He didn't answer, just stared moodily into his soda. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

₪₪₪₪

None of the Titans had seen Robin come in the previous night, so they were shocked when he came to the breakfast table in regular clothes and without his mask. Raven glanced up from her book, raising an eyebrow at Cyborg, as if finishing a conversation begun earlier in the morning.

"Robin!" exclaimed Starfire as soon as she saw him. "You have the eyes of a Jorgan Beetle!"

"Uh, thanks, Starfire," he answered, sitting down to pancakes. "I think." Cyborg snickered as Robin blushed into his breakfast.

"Dude! Did you forget to get dressed?" Beast Boy asked, pausing the shoveling of food into his mouth to stare wide-eyes at his friend.

"No," Robin answered, noticeably avoiding the eyes of his team. "I'm not gonna be around much today. I'm hangin' out with a friend from home again."

"Again? Wait, that's where you were last night? Hangin' out?"

"Well, yeah," Robin answered deliberately. "She's only here for two days."

"She?" Starfire asked, a hint of panic in her voice. "You are doing the hanging out with a she?"

"Well, yeah, Star," Robin said slowly. "It's just-."

"And you do not hide your eyes for her?"

"Well, no. She doesn't know me as Robin, so-."

"But you hide your eyes from us, from your friends?"

"_She's_ my friend, too."

"Excuse me," Starfire said, rising suddenly. "My blornog requires my attention." She swept from the room quickly as the boys all stared at Raven.

"She's going to wash her hair," Raven answered tonelessly, without looking up from the book balanced before her.

"Oh," Robin replied with more than a hint of confusion. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

Dig's Diner was always busy. Situated in downtown Jump City, it looked from the outside to be large silver dining car from an old railroad, but inside, it was quite large with small tables cramped into every available space, and each table was filled. It was a popular hangout for the younger crowds of the city, creating an atmosphere of clutter and chatter, two things that appealed to the youths, serving greasy burgers and greasy fries that were renowned to be the best within the city limits.

Dick and Sara had been lucky, finding a table near the far wall which afforded them some privacy for conversation, but as the meal wore on, Dick found his mind wandering more and more back to Titan Tower where his team, his friends, were protecting the city while he was out gallivanting about like a civilian. He couldn't help but wonder if they were angry with him. Starfire certainly appeared to be, and it wasn't just the jealousy of his being out with another girl. It was because Sara knew his real name, his past life, the color of his eyes.

Even Beast Boy had seemed a little disappointed that he was hanging out with a normal person rather than them. Or was he simply imagining it?

But Raven was right. They all had secrets, pasts that they didn't share with each other, unless it somehow caught up with them, like Raven's father or Starfire's sister. His wasn't catching up with him. An old friend had simply come to visit. It wasn't a danger. It was Sara Arthur, a friend who had sought him out to- what? Say goodbye before she moved on with her life?

"I'm dying, Dick. By this time next month, I'll be in a coffin."

"What?" Blue eyes snapped to Sara's face, wide with the sudden news broken on him. "Wait, what?"

Sara essentially ignored the utterly flabbergasted look on her friend's face and swirled a French fry in her ketchup.

"Do you mean 'what' as in what did I just say?" She popped the fry into her mouth, wiping her hands delicately on a napkin. "Or 'what' as in what have I been talking about for the last half hour?"

"What?" he asked again, forehead winkling in confusion.

"You are a man of few words." She stared at him in earnest, but ended up sighing and dropping her hands in her lap. "You haven't been involved in our conversation for the last half hour, and you haven't been listening for at least the last ten minutes."

"Yes, I have."

"So, you heard when I said I was going to have a sex-change operation, change my name to Boris, and join the Russian circus?"

"Huh? Oh, uh-."

"Or perhaps you support it, seeing as how you grew up in a circus yourself," she continued as if the last few minutes had prepared her in having conversations with herself. "Yes, I thought that's what it might be, though I never thought you'd agree to join my act wearing a little pink tutu and angel wings- not that I'm judging you on that, but I didn't really think you were into it. Evening gowns, maybe, but not tutus-."

"Sara!" he yelled, attempting to cut into her conversation long enough to get some answers. Several other patrons of the crowded diner looked over at him, but seeing the young lady was still calm, decided it wasn't dramatic enough to keep their attention.

"Yes, Dick?" She tried to sound as innocent as she could, despite the rising color in his cheeks. "Something you wanted to add to this discussion?"

"I'm sorry, I had something on my mind, but I have to know what you were just talking about, just a moment ago."

"You mean when I said I was dying?"

"Yes. Are you-?"

"No, I'm not," she said, fixing him with a glare he remembered all too well. "But it seems my imminent death is the only way I can catch your attention today." She lowered her eyes back to her pile of fries and once again began swirling them in ketchup. "So, what's up with you today? I mean, not that I'm mad or anything. I just- I'm only here for the rest of today, so I thought maybe you could forget about your homework or exams or whatever for this short time, seeing as I haven't seen you in a year."

"Look, Sara," Dick said, leaning on his elbows, hands clasped in front of his mouth. "I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention." He sighed, giving himself sufficient time to create a credible story that still explained his problem. "I have this circle of friends here, but they don't know me like you do. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Try."

"Well, first, I don't go by 'Dick.'

"Do you want me to start calling you Richard, too? It's okay. I mean, besides the sexual connotations, your nickname is a little outdated."

"No, it's not just that. Though you can call me Richard if you want. But, I act differently too, like I have a whole different personality than when I lived in Gotham."

"That's not all that uncommon," she answered sagely. "Moving away gives you a chance to start over, to fix those things about yourself you never really liked much. That's part of the reason I'm excited to go away to school next fall. Just make sure you don't totally forget who you are. I mean, funny nickname aside, Dick Grayson's a pretty cool guy to hang out with."

"What if there is no Dick Grayson here?"

"That, my friend, would be a tragedy. No matter how much you try to change your appearance or your personality or even your name, you're still the same person inside. If you lose that, how do you know _who _you are?"

"Hmm."

"What?"

"That just sounds like the same advice someone else gave me not too long ago."

"Must be a smart person. Is he your Jump City me?"

"_She's_ something like that," he said with a grin. "Same sarcasm, drier sense of humor."

"Sounds like she and I should meet."

Dick's smile faded.

₪₪₪₪

After paying the bill, they decided to walk the two blocks to Blue Moon, a club that featured local bands, sticky floors, and an MC who rhymed worse than a fifties DJ. Sara was enthralled as soon as he mentioned it and suggested the walk as a chance to continue their discussion. Dick figured it was her way of avoiding getting back into his bike unless she absolutely had to. He didn't mind, though. It was a nice night out, and he had no worries about the safety of his motorcycle. Even if someone did figure out how to start it (thanks to a few security adjustments by Cyborg), he would have to be an expert to handle it without flipping over the first time he took a curve.

"So, tell me about your Jump City me," Sara suggested, sliding her small leather satchel over one shoulder as they walked.

Dick struggled to find a way to describe Raven without revealing exactly who or what she was.

"Raven, uh, doesn't draw a whole lot of attention to herself. She usually hangs back and watches, kind of getting to know people before they even know she's there."

"She's perceptive."

"Very. And she reads a lot. Usually pretty dark stuff. And meditates. Not really a people-person, really. "

"You know, Richard, either I'm not seeing the connection here, or you have me confused with someone else."

Dick smiled.

"She's great to talk to about the things that really matter. And she always puts it in perspective, you know? Like what we were talking about back at the diner. Neither of you've ever met, but you both gave me the same good advice. You're both really good friends."

"I see. So, do you have a Bizarro-world Brian too?"

"Heh. Not quite. There's, uh, Victor. Vic, for short. He's a jock, like Brian, but Vic's into computers and cars and, well, pretty much anything you can take apart and put back together again. Gar's more like Brian's personality. Outgoing, funny. Anything for a laugh."

"Sounds like you have some pretty good friends out here."

"I do," Dick admitted wholeheartedly, gaining a smile from his friend. He realized it was the first time he'd talked to her, or really anyone, about his friends in Jump City, and even though he couldn't tell her the truth about them, it felt good to have someone else reinforce his own opinion that he had great friends.

Sara seemed to pick up on this, as well.

"So is she why you moved all the way out to the other side of the country away from all of us?"

Okay, so maybe she didn't quite pick up on it.

"She who?"

"Raven."

"Raven?" He nearly tripped over his own feet. "Raven's not the one I-."

"Then who?"

"Star- wait. What are we talking about?"

Sara stopped walking right in the middle of the sidewalk, surprising Dick so that he had to stop and turn around. She was staring up at him with a hurt look on her face.

"Why did you leave, Dick? Why did you just pack up and leave us behind without even a goodbye?"

"Look, Sara, I'm sorry." He'd never seen her look so upset before. "I didn't realize it upset you so much."

"Didn't realize-." She looked like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "You know, for the longest time, Brian and I tried to figure out what we'd done to make you just up and leave without saying anything. Being the young, immature people we were, we actually thought it was our fault, that maybe we fought too much, or tried to take up too much of your time. And you know what we realized? We weren't important enough in your life to cause that big of a change. There was some other reason, some- some bigger thing going on that we weren't a part of."

Dick absently wrapped his hand around his right upper arm, his palm pressing over the scar left over a year ago that had signaled the end of his career in Gotham City.

"We understood that, Dick, but that didn't make it hurt any less."

"I'm sorry. Seriously, Sara, I'm really sorry." He wrapped his arms around her, truly sorry that he had left her behind, that he had left everyone. He rubbed a hand in circles on her back, until she finally pulled away, tipped her glasses off her nose, and rubbed at her eyes, with the side of her finger.

"Sorry, Di- uh, Richard. I didn't mean to get all melodramatic on you."

"Hey, it's all right. I didn't realize I had that effect on you."

"Why? Don't all the other girls bust out in tears when you're around?" she asked, hitting him lightly on the shoulder.

"You'd be surprised," he answered with a smile.

"Sweet."

"Yeah. Real touchin.'

Dick spun around and swore. He'd been so caught up in Sara's tears, he had failed to notice the three guys edging their way up to them, or that they had stopped right on the edge of an alley.

"Hand over your wallet and your purse," the guy standing directly in front of Sara demanded, "and nobody gets hurt." He was taller than both of them and dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt with an over-sized button down over it. Even with the baggy clothing, Dick could tell from the way this guy carried himself, that he was solidly built. The other two guys hovered in front of Dick, as though realizing that he was a threat. One, thin but tall, wore a baseball cap over long blond curls. The other, short and stocky, with close trimmed brown hair and a square face, stared at them as though a joke had been told and he was waiting to reveal the punchline. Dick didn't like this at all.

"Fine," Sara answered, swinging the strap from her shoulder. "Just let me get my pocketbook."

Dick groaned inwardly. Much as he loved her, she was so naïve about the world outside the one her father had created for her.

"You think we're stupid?" Baseball Cap challenged, grabbing at the purse. Joke Boy reached into his pocket.

"Sara, just give it to him," Dick told her, his eyes watching Joke Boy's hand and checking the street at the same time. It was empty. There was no one to help them.

"I need my driver's license. I'm flying tomorrow!"

"Just give it to them!" He glanced over at her and saw the frozen look in her eyes. Looking back, he saw that Joke Boy had drawn a gun and was brandishing it at them.

"Let go of the god damned purse."

Her hands instantly released it in fear, dropping it onto the pavement and spilling the contents.

"You think that's funny?" he demanded, pushing the gun into her face. Dick reacted immediately, pulling Sara toward and behind himself, so the gun was trained on him.

"She didn't mean it," he told them. "She's just scared." Slowly, keeping one hand in the air, he took his own wallet from his pocket and dropped it next to hers. "There, now you have all our money. Just take it and go." But they didn't go. Muscle Boy bent down to grab the wallet and pocketbook, but Joke Boy kicked it away from him.

"What the hell?"

"Shut up, Matt."

"This is crazy, Ray! You said you were just gonna scare 'em!"

"They look scared, don't they?"

"Look, stealing's one thing, but this is crazy!" the muscular guy, Matt yelled. "Let's just get their money and go!"

"You wanna go? Then go!" Ray answered. "But don't come sniffing to me for any money!"

Dick took this time to look carefully around himself for anything that could help. He could sweep Ray's leg or arm, but his finger was on the trigger. Any attack on him could cause him to squeeze, possibly shooting one of them. The street was empty and afforded no real cover. Their best bet would be in the alley where the dumpsters could deflect any gunfire and hopefully supply a weapon. He reached back, grabbing Sara's wrist and pulling her as close to himself as he could without drawing attention to them.

"If I say, run to the alley and hide. Keep your head down."

"What-?"

Apparently, Matt had decided enough was enough. He ran down the street. The other guy, Baseball Cap looked like he wanted to join him, but didn't have the balls to speak up.

"You two, back up." Ray was talking to them again, motioning them back into the alley. Dick, still gripping Sara's wrist, stepped carefully backwards, keeping her behind him. When they were several feet in, Ray began talking again.

"I know you little rich kids got more on you than your money. Give me her jewelry and your watch."

Dick quickly complied, slipping of the silver watch Bruce had given him two years ago for Christmas. It was a CWC Military Chronograph. Designed for the RAF, it was indestructible, making it perfect for his hobbies, and he was going to miss it. He made a mental promise to track it down later on. Out of the corner of his eye, he would see Sara fumbling to pull her earrings out. Her hands shook so badly, however, that she couldn't seem to get it.

Dick had had guns aimed at him numerous times over the years, and he still wasn't exactly comfortable with this. He could imagine what she was going through.

Finally done, she dropped the two diamond studs into Baseball Cap's outstretched hand, then began fumbling with her necklace clasp. Impatient, Baseball Cap reached forward, grabbed the small silver chain, and yanked hard, breaking it. Sara cried out in surprise.

"Your rings, too," Ray reminded her. "And hurry up!"

Hands shaking even worse, tears welling up in her eyes, Sara slipped a silver band off her right hand, which Dick knew was her mother's engagement ring, as small and simple as a struggling law student could have bought for his wife. It was the only piece of jewelry of her mother's that she wore after she died. He'd get that back for her too. The other ring, her sapphire birth stone, wouldn't come off her finger.

"Hurry up!" Ray yelled.

"I'm trying!" She was scared. Dick could hear it in her voice.

"You have until the count of five."

She was tugging harder now.

"One."

"Look, just take everything else!" Dick told them.

"Two."

"It won't-."

"Three."

The hammer on the gun was slowly pulled back.

"Four."

Dick grabbed Sara's arm.

"Five."

He threw her backwards behind some trash cans just as Ray started firing. From the sounds of it, his aim wasn't that great. The first two shots buried themselves helplessly into the brick walls around them. The third, however, hit Dick just below his ribcage on the left side. He stumbled, then righted himself, seeing Sara duck down.

His side on fire, head reeling, Dick lunged to his right, hoping to find cover behind the dumpsters against the wall. He was an instant too slow as a fourth bullet flew over his head and the fifth tore through his left shoulder, throwing him off-balance. With a deep thud, he crashed against the side of the dumpster and staggered back against the wall, barely supporting himself with the failing strength in his limbs. He sank into the shadows as best he could, covering his side wound with a shaking right hand. His own sticky blood seeped through his fingers. His left arm hung useless at his side. An eternity seemed to pass with his hunkered down like this, losing blood and hoping not to draw Ray's attention to where he or Sara was hiding. Sirens could be vaguely heard, crying out in the distance.

"Let's go! The cops're comin'!"

"I think I got 'im."

"Dammit, Ray! You go down for murder, you're not takin' me!"

Footsteps could be heard running down the sidewalk and slowly disappearing into the distance. That left only one of them, Ray, in the alley with Dick and Sara. Unfortunately, he was badly injured and weaponless. So long as Sara stayed hidden, their best option was simply to wait for those sirens to get closer.

Footsteps moved closer, garbage crumpling under the steps. Dick braced himself, gritting his teeth against the pain, ready in case their attacker came close enough to see either of them. He was feeling weak and light-headed, a mix of the adrenaline and blood loss. Spots danced before his eyes as he peered through the darkness to make out Sara's form across the dark alley. He could barely make out her feet behind several trash cans farther in.

Sirens became louder, now on the same street, heading for the area where gunshots had been reported. With a muttered curse, their attacker turned and could be heard running away.

Dick released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then, pressing his hand even harder against the wound, he took a step away from the wall, and nearly collapsed to his knees. Gulping down deep breaths of air, he tried another step.

"Sara," he managed to call out. She did not answer, probably too scared to move. He managed another step before his body failed him. The boy fell heavily to one knee, though he felt no pain but those in his shoulder and stomach. He glanced down, seeing the blood drenching the front of his shirt and pants and felt his head spinning. He was losing too much, too quickly. Thoughts were becoming harder to keep in order.

"Sara," he tried again. "I'm hurt. I need you to help me." He had now slumped to the side, his elbow supporting him against the cold concrete below. Still Sara made no sound. He strained to hear her rapid breathing, but it was difficult over his own labored breaths. His body was suddenly too heavy to keep upright. He allowed himself to fall sideways, his cheek burning as broken glass pressed into his flesh. "Sara."

He could see her now, fallen sideways against the wall where she had hidden. Her eyes were open, as though staring at him through the darkness, but they saw nothing. Her face was covered in blood which still leaked from the hole above her right eye.

The sirens were suddenly silenced. Dick's vision was dimming but for the blue and red haze before his eyes, and a beam of light breaking through the darkness. He lay helpless on the ground, staring at the beacon of help. Two pairs of shiny black shoes were running toward him. Shouts could be heard distantly as unconsciousness overwhelmed him.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce Wayne sat back distractedly in his seat across from Hiroyasu Daishi, president of Kyushu Laboratories, developers "of technologies that generate and measure single-photons, succeeding in observing the world's first emission of single-photons in data transmission wavelengths." At least, that's what their press release said. So far, Bruce had seen nothing to convince him that this was any more than a ploy to get more money for a company that was quickly falling behind in the telecommunications business. Of course, the Gothamite playboy didn't appear attentive. While he tried to concentrate on the discussion, he had to rely heavily on his translator and several explanations of the technology. In reality, Bruce followed every word, even mentally correcting his translator when phrases were jumbled, and while his questions appeared to be begging for education in quantum mechanics, he was finding many answers dissatisfying.

So now Bruce was appearing as inept as he possibly could as he leaned back in his chair, feeling Daishi's eyes falling heavily on him, as though thoroughly examining him. Bruce had just turned his attention back to the presentation, when the door to the boardroom opened and a young secretary bowed her way in.

"Pardon, sirs, but there is an important phone call for Mr. Wayne."

All eyes turned expectantly on Bruce, but he remained where he was, waiting for his translator.

"Mr. Wayne, you have a phone call," came the translation with a wave toward the phone.

"Probably Lucius with the latest numbers," Bruce said and reached over and pushed the intercom button on the phone in the middle of the table. "Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce?" Lucius Fox's voice filled the room. "Bruce, you there?"

"Yes. Do you have those numbers for us?"

"Look, Bruce, take me off the speaker."

"Lucius-," he started slowly, seeing the looks the others in the room were giving him.

"I just got a phone call, Bruce. It's Dick-."

Wayne was instantly across the table, gripping the handset and pressing it to his ear.

"What happened?"

"We don't have details yet, but Dick's in the hospital over in Jump City. He and Montgomery Andrews's daughter were involved in a mugging."

"Tell me what happened," Bruce said much more calmly than he was feeling. Strange how he could remain calm in the most life-threatening situations, but whenever Dick was involved-

"He was shot, Bruce. It's pretty bad."

-self-control was swept away like a branch in the Gotham River.

"How bad?"

"You better get back here."

Bruce sat stunned for a moment, forgetting that there was anyone else in the room with him. 'You better get back here.' It must be bad. He glanced down at his watch.

"I can be in Jump City in twelve hours. Have you contacted Alfred?"

"I've already put him on a jet. He should be touching down in a few hours."

"Thank you." He replaced the receiver and sat silently a moment, then looked up at the men across the table.

"Mr. Wayne," Hiroyasu spoke up in perfect English. "I can see you have received urgent and disconcerting news."

"My son," was all Bruce could say.

Hiroyasu Daishi raised a hand, motioning that nothing more was needed.

"I, too, have a son, Mr. Wayne, and cannot imagine receiving a phone call like yours from halfway across the globe. We will postpone this meeting to a later date."

Wayne bowed in acquiescence, though he had been planning on leaving whether or not Daishi agreed. Perhaps the man had guessed as much and decided to save face.

"May the winds carry you swiftly to your son."

"Thank you," Wayne murmured, gathering up his papers. It was only when he looked up and caught a smile in the old man's eyes that he realized the last had been spoken in Japanese.

"I look forward to meeting you again, Mr. Wayne," Daishi said, grasping Bruce's hand, and motioning toward the door with the other. "My driver will take you to your hotel and airport. He is very good at finding holes in traffic."

Wayne thanked him again, and as he made his way down in the crowded elevator, reflected that that was the most he had heard Daishi speak through the entire meeting.

₪₪₪₪

Ten hours later, Bruce's plane was circling the Jump City International Airport, waiting for clearance to land. He had spent much of the time in contact with Alfred, who had been at the hospital for some time now, but he still felt uneasy. Dick was a tough kid, but this was the second time he'd been shot in two years.

And god knew, Bruce hadn't handled the first time too well. In an attempt at protectiveness, he pushed his adopted son away from the path he himself had first set him on. Angry and confused, Dick had left to start his own team and go his own way. They'd spoken very little over the last twenty months- not at all for that first year.

Then, miraculously, Dick had called, not Alfred, but Bruce. Though he pretended nothing was bothering him, Bruce knew everything was not right by the way Dick steered the conversation away from his work and more toward his childhood, something he rarely spoke of. In the end, he thanked Bruce for taking him in.

That was the clincher. Unfortunately, neither he nor Alfred could discover what was wrong. It worried him.

Bruce was snapped out of his reverie by a chipper voice and right smile.

"Mr. Wayne? We're preparing to land."

"Thank you, Theresa."

Feeling the plane tip sideways into a turn and begin its descent, Bruce looked out the window, catching the reflection of his mussed hair and loosened tie. He looked past it to the looming city, knowing a car would be waiting at the airport to take him straight to the hospital. He had forbidden Alfred from leaving. Someone had to be there if Dick woke up.

₪₪₪₪

Alfred Pennyworth sat in the stiff plastic chair next to Dick's bed, reading an outdated issue of Time magazine. It was several months old, boasting a cover of the president and his wife, both smiling, despite slipping polls. Why, however, Alfred could not say. As much as he gave off the feeling of being calm and collected, he felt listless and unable to concentrate. No one looked forward to the midnight phone call. Though Alfred was used to them, and often stayed up late just in case, he had gone to bed early, as Master Bruce was out of town and not engaged in any of his nocturnal activities. His call had come just after midnight. Within an hour, he was on a plane. It was nearly noon now, and he'd not slept more than an hour during the flight, despite the private plane Lucius had arranged.

Master Dick had been out of surgery for nearly eight hours, and he had yet to wake. Alfred had spent as much time by his side as he could, and although Intensive Care rules said no patient could have visitors longer then thirty minutes, he had been able to arrange for forty-five minutes. Not much, but it was still something. He had no doubt Master Bruce would be able to arrange for much more time. As it was, he pushed his visitations as long as he could before a rather burly looking nurse came in to say that time was up. As soon as the hour break was up, he was back by the boy's bed. The young man had not so much as twitched.

The door opened noiselessly, and Alfred looked up to see Tomas, the nurse, beckoning him out of the room. He rose, laying a comforting hand on Dick's.

"I'll be back, young sir."

He stepped outside the room, nodding to Officer McKinley, who guarded the injured young man's room. Master Bruce had not yet arrived, but arrangements had to be made for an extended stay. Though he knew Bruce would not leave the hospital for some time, he was also quite aware that it could be weeks before the young crusader would be released.

₪₪₪₪

Raven had slept restlessly that night. She had gotten up early, as the sun was rising, and gone to the roof to meditate on her restlessness. When she finally made it down to the kitchen, the rest of the Titans were already up; Cyborg and Beast Boy were having their daily argument over food, and Starfire merely sat dejectedly, staring down at a plate of eggs as though they had done something to offend her greatly. Robin, Raven noticed, was not yet up.

At nearly eleven, when she tired of listening to the boys argue over the Game Station, she made her way down the corridor where their rooms were, stopping outside Robin's room. Starfire was already there, staring at the door with shining eyes.

"Is he up yet?" Raven asked. The Tamaranian shook her head, the hurt of him 'doing the hanging out' with anther girl showing visibly in her drawn expression. Sparing one last look at the girl, Raven raised a hand and knocked. No one answered.

"Perhaps he is still sleeping," Starfire offered. She came forward, laying her own hand on the steel door. "Robin? Are you sleeping?"

"If he was, he isn't anymore," Raven told her dryly. She moved her hand to press the unlocking mechanism when Starfire grabbed her wrist.

"Maybe we should let him sleep."

"Robin's had enough sleep." Raised voices from the operations center reached her ears. "And I've had enough of those two arguing." She touched the button and the door slid open. "Robin?"

Except for stacks of files and clothes strewn over the bed, desk, and floor, there was nobody in there.

"I guess he's up already."

"I have not seen him."

"Maybe he's working out."

Without an answer, Starfire flew to the operations center. Sitting at the manual console, she pulled up the security logs for the last twelve hours. Looking over her shoulder, Raven saw that Robin did not appear on the log. He hadn't been home.

Starfire cried out at the discovery.

"What's up, Star?" Cyborg called from where he held his controller well over Beast Boy's head. The small green changling hopped up and down until he realized he could turn into a bird and snatch it.

"Robin did not return last night!"

"What?" He looked at Raven, who shrugged. "I'm sure he just lost track of time."

"No. Robin would not. That glembork has done something to him! I know it!"

"Look, Starfire, he was probably just tired and stayed at her hotel," Beast Boy offered helpfully. Raven and Cyborg both glared at him, as his words had done nothing but upset Starfire more. He didn't even seem to notice what was wrong with his words.

As the Tamaranian began a rant about glemborks and blegtorbleks, and other insults no one understood, Cyborg opened the communications channel on his arm.

"Robin, you there?"

Raven shook her head.

"He doesn't have it, remember?"

"Oh yeah." He glanced over at the furious red head and a confused Beast Boy. "You think you could find him? You know, do your little voodoo-I'm-in-your-head thing?"

"My _what_?"

"You know. Find Robin."

"You can find him?" Starfire snapped out of her angry monologue quickly.

"I will _not_ invade his mind just so Starfire can stop flipping out."

"Think of it as a quick check up by Big Brother," Cyborg cajoled. "Just make sure he's okay and no glamborks have done anything to him."

"Please, Raven."

"Fine," she snapped. "But don't say anything. I need to concentrate. She slipped easily into a lotus position in one fluid movement. With one last glare in parting, she closed her eyes and began her mantra.

The rest of the team watched her, Starfire more intensely than the others, as her body relaxed after several moments. The mantra had stopped, but she continued breathing long slow breaths. Raven remained where she was for several minutes, first calmly, then perplexed. Her eyes tensed in concentration before finally opening.

"Well?"

"I can't find him." The words fell slowly, almost dazedly from her lips. "He's not there."

"Maybe he's sleeping," Beast Boy offered, but Raven shook her.

"Even when you're sleeping, your mind is working."

"Where is Robin?" Starfire sobbed.

"Any ideas on this?" Cyborg asked her more quietly with a sideways glance at the alien.

"He could be behind some kind of psychic shield. Or unconscious. Or-." She didn't have to finish the last thought. The closed look told Cyborg what her words would not.

"Or out of range," was all he said. "All right, team," he said, turning to the other two. "Looks like we're going out on a search."

₪₪₪₪

Bruce Wayne stood in the well lit corridor of J. Sherman Memorial Hospital, listening as Dr. Hilton outlined the extent of Dick's injuries. Having come directly from the airport as soon as his jet had touched down, Wayne was unshaven and worn, and more than annoyed that he was not allowed to go directly to Dick's room. Now, he listened alertly, despite the effects of jet lag, as the doctor described the surgeries his ward had needed. A bullet had grazed his left lung, but hadn't punctured it fully, exiting through and breaking the 11th rib. The other shot had missed the third rib, lodging in his shoulder. It had been touch and go when he had first arrived in the ambulance due to the blood loss, but he was expected to make a full recovery.

Wayne closed his eyes in relief. The wounds were not fatal. They were more serious than the last time, but he would live. Worry still pressed against his chest, though. Dick would have limited use of his arm until the flesh was completely healed. Therapy would be needed for the atrophied muscles, possibly to get used to any limited movements from the wounds.

What worried him the most, though, was that Dick had been shot as a civilian, not as Robin. And that one of his friends, another civilian, had been killed as well. Though he played tough, Dick was more sensitive to other's injuries to his own. This would be very difficult for him to come back from.

Thanking the doctor with a firm handshake, Wayne made his way to Dick's room where the officer leaned his chair back on two legs while reading the newspaper. The police department had insisted on placing a guard outside his room. He was, after all, as they explained, the adopted son of one of the most powerful businessmen in the country and had been nearly killed on their streets with the daughter of a congressman. They weren't taking any chances that it hadn't been planned.

Wayne was still a few steps from the door when a light began flashing outside the room. Several alarms could be heard from the monitoring equipment. Fearing the worst, Wayne began to run, Dr. Hilton on his heels and several nurses rushing from the opposite direction, when suddenly a scream rang out through the quiet corridor. The guard leapt from his place, dropping the newspaper to the floor and drawing his weapon with one smooth movement and threw the door to the room open.

The room was dark, as it had been when he had left the boy's side. The guard put an arm out, stopping the billionaire and doctor from running into danger before calling out.

"Mr. Grayson! Are you all right?" He fumbled for the switch, bathing the room in light. The room was empty except for where Dick Grayson lay in the bed, his face pale beneath the sheen of sweat; now free of its sling, his arms were thrashing, as if throwing off an invisible attacker.

"Dick!" Wayne called out, but was barred by the nurse.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. You'll have to wait outside." Bruce looked past him to see what was happening.

The boy was breathing heavily, as though he had just completed a training exercise and was struggling for air. His eyes were wide, fearful, as the doctor and two large orderlies attempted to fend off the boy's drunken blows.

The doctor stepped in front of him and he could see no more.

"Mr. Wayne," the nurse repeated, motioning toward the door. He stepped out into the hall, the door closing him off from the room. Another nurse bustled out directly behind him, only to return a few seconds later with silver tray covered with a clean white cloth. As the door swung closed, Bruce stepped deftly into the room, concealing himself in a curtained area in the corner. He watched silently as the needle of a syringe was pressed into the IV in Dick's arm. Almost instantly, the boy was calmed enough for his bandages to be removed. As they were dropped into a hazardous materials bin, traces of blood could be seen on them.

Dick must have torn his stitches out.

Bruce clenched his jaw, watching from the shadow as doctors repaired the damage done to his adoptive son, straining to hear his incoherent mumblings under a clear oxygen mask.

The doctors finally gone, Bruce went to Dick's side and looked down at him carefully. He was bare from the waist up, but for the bandages and gauze crisscrossing his stomach, chest, and shoulder. His left arm was now completely immobilized, secured to his chest by gauze.

Staring down at the too young face, completely devoid of any emotion, the young billionaire was at a loss. He had tried before to take Robin away, leaving only Dick Grayson, but had only succeeded in driving both of them away from him. He could not make the same mistake again. Besides, it wasn't a physical threat that scared him. He could protect Dick from a physical threat. But the mental, the psychological- he had plenty of experience with that, but even he admitted to himself that his therapy hadn't exactly been healthy. Afterall, that's how he had ended up here.

That's how they both had ended up here.


	6. Chapter 6

"_-two Gotham City teenagers. Seventeen year old Sara Andrews, daughter of State Representative Montgomery Andrews, was killed when a stray bullet struck her as she attempted to hide in the alley. The second victim, whose identity is being withheld by police until family can be notified, is in stable condition at Sherman Memorial Hospital. Reportedly, heavy security has been placed around the minor's room, leaving many wondering if this mugging was not in fact something more. Police Chief Warren Jefferson refused comment on the security at the hospital, saying that the investigation into the murder of Miss Andrews is ongoing._

_"In other news, billionaire and philanthropist Bruce Wayne made an unannounced visit to Jump City today-."_

₪₪₪₪

The first thing he was aware of was the sounds. The rhythmic 'beep… beep' somewhere to his right, and soft rustle of clothing nearby as someone shifted their position. Farther away, he could hear footsteps and a metallic voice over an intercom.

Next was the sensation of a total absence of pain, as if he had been hit by a fast moving bus and all the pain taken away, leaving grogginess and numbness. He began moving his limbs, if only to be sure he still possessed them. He couldn't be sure he was really moving them or remembering them, but he was fairly sure he still had all of them.

After all, he'd only been shot.

Twice.

He opened his eyes, staring hazily at a white ceiling. A spray of light to his left told him there was a covered window nearby.

He was in a hospital. Dick lifted his hands to cover his face, to wipe the grogginess away. Only one obeyed, and it encountered a tiny tube running across his face and under his nose. Clear medical tape held tubes into his arm, preventing the needles in his veins from jiggling loose. Some kind of clip covered his middle finger, presumably monitoring his heart rate. His left arm, he discovered, was strapped securely to his chest, prohibiting from any sort of movement.

"Dick?" He turned his head slightly, feeling as though his brain was sloshing about in his skull, and looked into the heavily-bagged eyes of his guardian.

"Bruce?" He hated that his voice sounded so airy, so weak. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd come for a visit." He was whispering, as though afraid of waking someone, but Dick was grateful. His head was killing him.

"You look like hell." He did. Bruce's shirt was open at the collar, his tie missing. The shirt, which probably had been starched and ironed, was a wrinkled mess. His hair was standing on end, as though he had run his hands through it repeatedly.

"You won't exactly be on the cover of GQ, either."

Dick closed his eyes and smiled to himself, but felt so weak, he wasn't sure his lips had actually moved. Moments later, he was forcing his eyes open again. He could feel himself drifting back to sleep, but he didn't want to yet.

"How long have I been here?"

"They brought you in late last night. It's nearly four in the afternoon, now."

"My team-." He was feeling heavier, as though the mattress was pulling him further down.

"I'll contact them."

"They'll be looking-." His eyes drifted closed, too heavy to open.

"I'll take care of them."

"Bruce-."

"Just get some sleep." He felt a hand gently touch the top of his head, ruffling back his hair in a way he hadn't experienced since he was very small, even before he had vowed never to be a victim again. It was comforting to him as sleep drifted in.

₪₪₪₪

"I've got a lead," Cyborg announced, over the communicator. "A minor was admitted to Sherman Memorial late last night. There's heavy security around him, but I think it might be our boy."

"Robin has been injured?" Starfire's voice came over the transmission.

"Any particular reason you think it's him?" Raven asked, ignoring the Tamaranian.

"A mugging took place just a block from where we found Robin's bike. An unnamed Gotham teenager was taken to the hospital."

"I'm just a few blocks from there," Raven replied. "I'll check it out." Snapping her communicator shut and ending the worried questions of Starfire and Beast Boy, she pulled the kinetic energies around herself, forming in her mind the image of a great bird soaring through the sky, then feeling the tingle as those energies engulfed her and raised her up to carry her quickly to her destination. Opening her eyes, she found herself standing across the street from the hospital, with several bystanders staring at her oddly.

'Not exactly the most inconspicuous way to travel,' she thought, levitating across the traffic filled street and depositing herself before the revolving glass doors. Raven pushed through them, spotted the reception desk and moved toward it, only to be intercepted by a tall man with sparse white hair atop his head, though elderly was not a word Raven would have used to describe him.

"A moment, Miss?" he asked with an unmistakable British accent, motioning back outdoors.

"I don't really have time to speak to your grandkids," she answered moodily, stepping around him. His hand shot out with amazing speed, stopping her and withdrawing quickly, as though he knew not to touch her without being told.

"Perhaps for a common friend?" he asked innocently, but something in his eyes, a slight widening, a glitter, she couldn't explain it, except that she did not feel a threat from him. To her own surprise, she accepted the pen and paper he placed in her hands, writing a disingenuous message to a random child she knew did not really exist.

The man smiled as he accepted the pad back, replying that young Master Richard would be ecstatic. Before Raven could reply, the man had shaken her hand, thanking her again, then disappeared somewhere in the nearly empty reception area. Raven looked around, then squeezed her hand into a fist. The old man had slipped a note into her palm when he shook her hand, and she took a moment to slip it up her sleeve, before walking up to the reception.

A blonde woman with cat-eyed glasses hanging on a chain around her neck looked up and smiled, but Raven, feeling the note in her sleeve, knew already what it was asking: Don't link Richard Grayson to the Titans. Whoever that man was, he knew who Robin was. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been there. He wouldn't have intercepted an obvious Titan before asking about him at the desk.

"Yes, ma'am?" The woman asked, trying to sound friendly, but failing miserably.

"I- I was just wondering what time it is," Raven replied. The woman smiled as if she was laughing at the girl in the cloak, then pointed to the oversized clock hanging directly over the desk.

"Thanks," Raven muttered, before turning on her heel. As she strode toward the door, she noticed the British gentleman talking to a very tall woman in a suit and couldn't help wonder if she had only imagined he was giving her some message. As soon as she was out the door, she slipped the paper from her sleeve and opened it.

₪₪₪₪

Bruce wasn't aware of how long he had been sitting by Dick's side when Alfred entered the room.

"Master Bruce, there's someone here."

"If it's one of Dick's roommates, tell them to go home. I'll visit with them tonight."

"That has already been taken care of, sir. However-." Alfred stepped aside to reveal the tall Amazonian behind him. Bruce stood as Alfred excused himself and left once more to give them some privacy.

"Diana."

"Your quick leave of Hiroyasu Daishi made papers in Metropolis. When Clark couldn't contact you or Alfred, we tracked you here." She saw the look in his eyes. "He was worried."

"I didn't think it would make the papers this quickly."

"Bruce Wayne could sneeze, and it would make the papers." Diana came closer to the bed and he stepped aside, allowing her to peer down at the young teenager. "How is he?"

"Doctors say he'll be fine with some rest, but that'll be the hard part." He came to stand beside her, his eyes fixed on his young ward's face. "He's a tough kid to keep down."

"Like some other people I know." Their eyes met briefly, small smiles reflecting in them guiltily before being drawn back to the boy. "Has he awakened yet?"

"He was awake for a few minutes this afternoon, but nothing since then." He ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign of his worry. "He had some kind of episode earlier. Tore out half his stitches."

"Yet seeing violence is nothing new to him?"

"No." A sigh escaped him as he stared sadly down. "One of his friends was killed, though."

"A member of his team?"

"No, a girl he went to school with in Gotham. One of his first real friends after I took him in."

"Possibly the one thing that gives us all nightmares."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. They remained in silence for some time, Bruce finally settling into his chair again, his knuckles pressed to his lips absently, when Diana whispered, "He's waking." The billionaire sprang from his chair, hovering over the bed as Dick's eyes fluttered, then opened slowly.

"Bruce?" he whispered weakly.

"Hey, kid," he answered, grasping the young man's hand loosely. "How're you feeling?"

"Like death," Dick answered, allowing his eyes to drift shut again before forcing them open again. "You brought a date?"

"This is Diana, an associate of mine."

A vague smile touched Dick's lips as Diana laid a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"I should get back," she said, her eyes lingering on the young man in the bed.

"Thank you, Diana. Tell Clark I'll contact him later." She nodded and left the room. "Now that there's not a pretty woman distracting you, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Are there police outside that door?" he asked, his eyes sliding toward the closed-off hallway.

"Of course."

"Could you call them in here?"

"Why?"

Dick closed his eyes wearily before opening them slowly.

"Because this city isn't your territory."

₪₪₪₪

"What do you mean you didn't even ask?" Cyborg yelled through the com device in Raven's hand. "You said you'd check it out! The whole point behind checking it out is to find out whether or not-."

"Enough," Raven snapped, shutting Cyborg up instantly. "He's there, I know it. Have everyone meet me back at the tower in twenty minutes." She glanced down at the slip of paper unfolded in her hand.

_Call off the search. Bring no attention to your friend's disappearance. Expect me at your headquarters tonight.-B_

"How do you know?" Cy asked.

"A friend of a friend told me."

₪₪₪₪

"Congressman?"

Montgomery Arthur looked up with dark-circled eyes to find Bruce Wayne standing over him.

"Bruce, how are you?" he asked, though there was no emotion in his tone. He had just lost his daughter, and coming to identify her body was not something that wouldn't change a man. He was pale, his clasped hands shaking slightly, his hair limp and hanging into his face.

"As can be expected. How are you, Monty?"

The congressman broke for a moment, though he held his tears at bay, allowing them to gather in his eyes, but willing them not to fall. He rubbed a hand over his face, then began talking through his fingers.

"I've heard about it happening, the phone call in the middle of the night, but Sara was such a good kid- I never really thought it would happen to us. Not to Sara. Not my baby." He scrubbed his face with his hands and looked up, leaving his eyes red and splotchy. "I don't know how to explain it," he said at last. "You can't know how it feels."

"I have an idea," Bruce answered softly. The congressman looked up suddenly, as if to argue, but realized to whom he was speaking.

"Yes, you do. I'm sorry, Bruce. I forget sometimes-."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"How is Richard?"

"He should pull through. The doctors are optimistic."

"Is he awake yet?"

"A little while ago. The police are with him now."

"Good, good," came the distracted response. "He's a good kid, Bruce. Keep him close. Seems like all the bad things happen to good kids these days."

"It was chance, Monty. Ten minutes earlier or later, and it's happening to someone else."

Andrews nodded, then lapsed into silence. From the look of him, he didn't believe in chance. He felt Fate had it out for him, and he took this personally. As Bruce watched him from the corner of his eye, he found he could relate. Lightening wasn't supposed to strike in the same place twice. The silence stretched uncomfortably, with Andrews staring blankly at the floor.

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce silently thanked God that Alfred had come to find him. He never knew what to say in moments like this, especially when Montgomery had lost Sara, and Dick was going to live. Fate seemed unfair in times like this, though if given the opportunity to switch, Bruce would never do it. He simply couldn't go through that pain again, of losing one of the few people he had allowed into his life.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"All arrangements have been made for your meeting, sir. Your suit is laid out in the hotel."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Always business, aren't you Bruce," Andrews said sadly.

Wayne blinked once, slowly.

"I'm meeting with the dean of Dick's school. We're making arrangements for his education to continue through this semester."

"You'll be taking him back to Gotham, then?" The conversation seemed to relax the congressman some, allowing him a moment away from his grief.

"If Dick agrees."

Andrews nodded absently.

"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted once more. "Master Richard is asking for you as well, before you go to your meeting."

Bruce turned back to his distraught friend but was waved off.

"Go, Bruce. He needs you." His smile faded into a grimace. "If it was Sara- no need for politeness."

"If you need anything, Monty-," Bruce began as he rose from the chair, clasping the congressman's hand in his own.

"I know. Thank you."

₪₪₪₪

Dick lay back in his bed, staring up at the white ceiling and wondering again if he was doing the right thing. Though he had fallen asleep several times since first awakening in the hospital, he had actually rested very little. The dreams were behind his eyes even when he was awake, and had become steadily worse since refusing to talk to Bruce about it when he asked. True, he had gotten quite a bit more than Dick had been willing to tell out of him, mostly about the physical happenings of that night, but so far as the emotional, well, he just wasn't ready to share those. They were too fresh and he had been cut too deeply.

Besides, he didn't want to see the disappointment in his mentor's eyes. Though he knew Bruce would never say as much out loud, he knew exactly what he would be thinking: "You failed, Dick. And you cost someone their life."

The teenager closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, trying not to move too much and disturb the temporarily dormant pain in his side and shoulder.

"Dick?" Bruce was here. He couldn't turn back now. Besides, he was making the right decision. "Alfred said you wanted me."

"Yeah. How long until I'm released?"

Bruce tensed.

"You just woke up."

"How long?"

"Richard." He used that voice that brokered no argument.

"Bruce." Dick returned, though he was completely aware his own version was much weaker.

"A few days more. At least until you can move around a little without hurting yourself again. Why?"

"I want to go home," he said, sounding defeated. "I want to go back to Gotham."

Bruce's eyebrows rose a fraction, as if this request surprised him.

"What about your team?"

"I don't know," Dick answered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with his decision. Maybe Bruce didn't want him to come home. Maybe he was finally getting back into the rhythm of not having a kid around to watch out for anymore. "I just thought with everything that happened-."

"I'll make the necessary arrangements," came the answer quickly. "I'm sure Alfred would love to have you home again." He hesitated for a split second, but Dick caught it. "It'll be good to have you with us again."

The wounded crime fighter forced a smile. Did Bruce not want him to come home? Maybe he really did see him as a failure. God, did everyone else see it too? Would everyone see him forevermore as the worthless kid who couldn't even stop a mugging?

"Thanks, Bruce."

Wayne's mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something more, but was restraining himself.

"Did you want anything else?" he asked finally, in a measured tone.

"No."

"Dick, you know that if you want to talk-."

"I'm fine," he snapped just a little too quickly, then softened when he realized the tone he's taken. "I'm fine, Bruce. Really." It didn't take any sleuthing skills to figure out that the man didn't believe him, but nothing was said on the matter.

"I'm meeting with your friends tonight. Anything you want me to tell them?"

"Just- just tell them I'm all right."

₪₪₪₪

"So that's it?" Beast Boy demanded. "Some old guy told you to stop looking for Robin, so you said, 'okay'?"

"I didn't say, 'okay,'" Raven pointed out evenly. "He was gone before I could even look at the note."

"That explains it," B.B. continued angrily. "This 'old guy' is obviously an alien from another planet who brainwashed Robin and is using him to get information about Earth before-!"

"That's enough," Cyborg said, holding his hand over the pointy-eared boy's mouth. "We don't have time for your foolishness. We can't simply ignore the fact that Robin is in that hospital. "

"I agree." Star added. "Perhaps it was Slade who injured Robin."

"Slade's dead. But this could all be a trap," Cyborg said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Besides, who's this B who's supposed to meet us here? What's he going to do, ring the doorbell?"

"It's not a trap," a deep voice announced. The team turned at once, on the defensive as a tall shadow loomed about the doorway.

"Or he could just walk right in," Raven replied in her monotone voice, as though nothing in the world about that entrance surprised her.

"How'd you get in here?" Cyborg bellowed, leveling his sonic canon.

"You left the door unlocked."

"So you just decided to come in for a visit?" The end of the canon glowed ominously.

"She received my note," he answered, indicating Raven. "I told you I was coming."

"Cyborg, wait," Starfire said, stepping in front of the oldest teen whose cannon was glowing ominously. "What do you know of our friend, Robin?" she asked the shadow.

"He was injured last night."

"We figured out that much!" Cyborg shouted. "What happened?"

"Robin was shot twice during a mugging. He's at Sherman Memorial."

The Titans stood stock till, stunned at the news. Then, as if a bomb had dropped, Beast Boy burst into laughter.

"This is a joke, right? Did Robin put you up to this? Man, he went all out this time-."

"I do not joke." The shadow stepped forward into the light, revealing the identity of the caped crusader.

"Batman," Raven stated simply.

"Oh, like you knew," Beast Boy said, crossing his arms. Raven said nothing more, merely rolling her eyes.

"Please, is Robin okay?" Starfire asked, ignoring the exchange behind her. "Can we see him?"

"Impossible," came the steely answer. "Robin was not in uniform, and was admitted under his real name. If you visit him, someone could guess his real identity." His eyes lingered on Starfire, then moved to envelop the whole group. "I will tell Robin you wanted to see him, but I forbade it."

"But poor Robin!"

"You can't tell us not to see him!"

"Who cares if someone knows his name? It's not like he leads a double life here!"

"ENOUGH!" The Titans silenced immediately and turned to face Raven. "Don't you understand what's going on here? If people figure out who Robin is, they'll figure out who Batman is. That is a risk Robin would never allow." She looked around at the group. "We're too conspicuous when we're in public. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who we are. We'd just endanger both of them."

"Correct, Raven," Batman answered, breaking the silence that had again fallen over the teens. "Though not about my protection. Robin has enough enemies without taking mine into account. And any of them would jump at the chance to find him while he's weak."

"So, uh, how bad is he?" Beast Boy asked rather sheepishly, still rather embarrassed at having laughed this over as a joke.

"Physically, he should be fine."

"What about mentally?" Raven asked, when everyone else looked relieved. Batman studied her carefully before answering.

"Mentally, he's having a tough time. He won't be returning to the Tower-."

He was cut off by the protests of Beast Boy, Cyborg, and Starfire, who were silenced again at once by the Dark Knight's upraised hand.

"-anytime soon. A civilian was killed. It's been tough for him."

"His friend, Sara?" Raven asked.

Batman nodded.

"He'll be returning to Gotham City with his guardian once he's released. I will set up a secure line so he can contact you when he's ready."

"So what's to stop us from going up to the hospital right now?" Cyborg asked.

"A handful of armed police officers." Batman seemed to almost smile at that. "Jump City's finest doesn't like it when you attack the son of somebody important in their city." The smile faded. "And if not them, I will."

"Really?"

"Okay, Cyborg," Beast Boy said, waving his arms in front of the teen. "Let's not start a war over this. If Batman says Robin is fine, Robin is fine. Besides, I think we can all agree that we shouldn't draw attention to who he is."

"You should listen to your little green friend."

"Hey! I'm not lit-tle." The word faded into a whisper, as the man who had brought them their information had vanished from the room. "Who was that masked man?" he asked in playful seriousness.

"Raven says his name is Batman," Starfire offered helpfully. "And it appears he is a friend of Robin's."

Raven stared momentarily at the Tamaranian, then, shaking her head, moved to go meditate.

"So what do we do now?" Beast Boy asked just before she left the room.

"Exactly what we were told to do," she told them, pausing in the doorway. "Nothing."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Okay, whoa. Long silence. Big apologies. I'm still working on this story. It's just coming really slowly. Thank you, those of you who've stuck with me (if anyone has)._

Dick awoke in the middle of the night for no reason. It was his first night of real sleep without the drugs that had been shot into him over the course of the last few days. As a result, his arm and side ached slightly, but he was wide awake and alert for the first time in what felt like weeks.

He sat in silence for several minutes, trying to figure out what it was that had wakened him, when the far window began to give off a dark blue glow. It suddenly flew open, curtains blowing in the breeze that swirled around the room, as a cloaked figure flew closer, then climbed through the window and stood near the bed looking at him.

"It's not visiting hours, you know."

"I've never been much for schedules," Raven answered, pushing her hood back from her face. She took a moment to take in the room, the beeping machines and tubes connected to the boy wonder, who lay against his pillow with his left arm secured tightly to his bandaged chest. "No annoying roommate?"

"Private room."

"Lucky you." Her eyes locked on his face, still pale and drawn, then darted down to the thickly padded bandages entwining his shoulder and torso. "Batman said you were going back to Gotham."

"For a little while," he answered. "To heal."

She nodded, as though this was perfectly logical, but he could see in her eyes there was something more she wanted to say. He said as much to her.

"Everyone's worried about you, Robin."

"Richard. Call me Richard when I'm not in uniform." She gazed at him a long time, causing him to quickly add: "It's safer that way."

"Richard, then." She took a deep breath, as though steadying herself.

"Something wrong?"

"It's a hospital," she told him. "Thousands of emotions are flowing through these walls. Sad. Angry. Worried. Conflicted." She shook her head. "And lots of pain. It's like stepping into a cold shower."

"I hadn't realized you picked up other people's emotions so easily."

"I do when we're connected." Her gaze intensified. "Don't forget, Richard. I've been in your head. I feel your emotions as easily as I feel my own."

Dick frowned at the irony of that statement, but let it go. His feelings weren't something he wanted to discuss.

"So, where's everyone else?"

"Back at the Tower. Only Cyborg knows I'm here." She folded her arms so her cloak effectively covered her body. "He wanted to come, but agreed he'd be too easily spotted."

"Why _are_ you here?"

She moved closer to the bed, and Dick could see why people were afraid of her. In the darkness, her pale skin had an ethereal glow, making her seem an eerie apparition in the room, rather than a flesh and blood friend.

"Like I said, everyone's worried."

"Well, I'm fine and in one piece. I just need some time to get back on my feet." She was frowning at him, her lips pursed into a line, eyebrows furrowed. "Something you want to say, Raven?"

"Just wondering if you were planning to blame yourself for this too."

He felt his face flush with anger, wanted to yell at her to mind her own business, but the knowledge that someone outside the room might hear, held him back. Besides, from the look on her face, Raven had picked up on the change of emotion.

"I guess that's my answer." She turned away, walking back toward the window. "Look, have a good time back in Gotham. Go out with your friends. Take a break. Hang up the mask for a while. We'll keep things together here."

The shadows darkened, enveloping her where she stood, and finally carrying her out the window. Dick lay still staring at the spot she had just left, her parting words rolling about in his brain. Raven was always very deliberate about language. The things she said, especially when she was 'talking' were always exactly what she meant but there was always a double-edgedness to them. That she had told him to hang out with his friends had hurt, like she didn't think of the Titans as his friends either. As soon as the words had hit him, he wanted to answer back, to remind her that they were a team- friends- and that he'd be back soon, but he couldn't. Something had held him back. He couldn't lie so easily to a friend.

₪₪₪₪₪

Dick was released a few days later. He wasn't happy about having to leave in a wheelchair, but it was hospital policy, so he said nothing. In fact, he said nothing at all during the drive to the airport or the flight back to Gotham City. He didn't look out the window at the city he was leaving behind. Bruce noticed as he sat in the private jet with his young ward, that Dick stared at some undetermined spot in the air, his hand clutching his side, as though it gave him pain despite the medications he had been given.

Once back at the manor, Dick went straight up to his room, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of his bed. He didn't bother to look around. He knew it looked exactly as he had left it. Lying back, he winced at the pain in his shoulder and moved his arm slightly in its immobilizer so its weight wasn't on the broken bone and punctured tissue.

Staring up at the ceiling, his mind wandered over the past few years he had spent in Gotham with Bruce. It was a whir of images, of high school classes and tennis matches, formal functions and exhausted breakfasts, patrols and fights. Then he closed his eyes and saw the darker side of his memories: his parents falling slowly, twisting helplessly in the air; Chad Wallace jumping from the Gotham Bank building, flipping over to smile up at him, then landing with that sickening wet smack; Sara lying dead in the alley, blood oozing from a hole in her head, her eyes staring glassily.

They ran through his head over and over, like a disconnected film that had been spliced together so the three events ran as one: his parents falling, Chad flipping and hitting the ground, Sara dead. He was lost in it, consumed by the futility of it all. There was nothing he could do to stop. His eyes refused to open. All other thoughts fled his mind but these three people he had known and been present with for their death. All of them seemed to stare at him in their moment of death, quietly accusatory, but shouting all the same his guilt, his inability to act.

They went faster and faster, like a merry-go-round spinning out of control, the images becoming a blur, then screaming in terror, in fear, tearing at his eardrums; and suddenly he was falling out of control, no swing line on his belt, for he was Dick Grayson, nothing more. He opened his mouth to scream, but had no voice, though his throat burned with the effort. The ground rushed up at him.

And suddenly he was awake again, his throat burning, Bruce gripping his uninjured shoulder to tear him from his nightmare. His eyes were wide, he knew, as he looked quickly around the room, expecting to see those dead faces accusing him once more. All he saw was Alfred rushing into the room with a glass of water.

"Shh," Bruce told him. "Settle down, Dick." And only then did Dick realize he was babbling, probably incoherently. Bruce reached over his own shoulder without turning to take the glass of water from Alfred, and held it out. "Drink."

Dick did as he was ordered, and as he did so, realized his breathing was fast and erratic, causing him to cough. He closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breath. In. Out. In. Out.

When he again opened his eyes, though not yet quite calm, Alfred had left, and Bruce had pulled his desk chair over to the bed.

"What's going on, Dick?"

"Nothing."

"That screaming was not nothing."

"Just a nightmare."

"You were dreaming about Sara Andrews." It wasn't a question. Dick could feel those steel blue eyes watching him, looking for any sign he was right. He found it in the boy's silence. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes." But his heart wasn't in the answer. He knew it was his fault. He hadn't pulled the trigger, but he couldn't stop it. He didn't notice Bruce watching him more closely, his quick eyes taking in the guilt-ridden slump against the pillows, the distant eyes, the down-turned mouth. When he focused again and looked up, he found that Bruce was standing, though he couldn't remember him doing so.

"Alfred should have dinner ready in a few minutes. Will you be down?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." He slid off the bed and followed his mentor out the door. He didn't want to be alone right now anyway.

₪₪₪₪₪

Sara Arthur was buried two days after Dick returned to Gotham. Despite concern from both Bruce and Alfred, Dick attended with his guardian. At St. Paul's Cathedral, he sat on a pew several rows back from where the shiny coffin was situated, his suit jacket hiding the immobilizer on his left arm, staring forward, though he didn't seem to see anything. Instead, the music, sang by a choir, swirled around him, making him feel worse, rather than better, and the congregation rose, row by row, going forth for Communion.

"_And He will raise you up on eagles' wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand_."

He felt Bruce's hand touch his shoulder, but there was no comfort. He wasn't even able to question why his hand was on his right shoulder when he sat to his left, but he rose automatically to go forth with Bruce, lowering his head reverently as he'd been taught, but also so he would not have to look at the casket, then cupping his right hand to receive the Eucharist.

"The Body of Christ," Father Frye said, placing the piece in hand.

"Amen." Dick placed it on his tongue.

A small sip of wine, and Bruce's hand was on his shoulder again, leading him back toward the pew.

"_The snare of the fowler will never capture you, and famine will bring you no fear: under His wings your refuge, His faithfulness your shield_."

He had been unable to go to the showing. Dick had asked, telling Bruce he needed a chance to say goodbye. Bruce had allowed it, and Alfred drove them to the funeral parlor. Dick had made it just inside the door, spotted the coffin and backed out. Alfred drove him home while the images of Sara lying dead in a dark alley clouded his mind.

"_And He will raise you up on eagles' wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand._"

Seeming to break the spell on the music, Dick shook his head. Where was He when they were both in the alley with a gun trained on them? Where was His protection then? He lowered his face into his hand, trying to push the thoughts out of his head.

Sara had always been a good girl, doing as she was told, feeling deeply for other people. The only mistake she had ever really made was in being his friend and coming to see him.

"_You need not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day; though thousands fall about you, near you it shall not come_."

It was him. He was the only thing she had to fear, for he was the only one that had hurt her. He hurt her when he left. He hurt her when she visited. And in the end, she had died because of his friendship.

Something in his chest clenched, and Dick leaned forward clutching himself, trying to hold back the tears. He felt Bruce's arm tighten around his shoulders, pulling him against his side. It didn't occur to him to question this act of tenderness so rarely shown by the billionaire. If he were in his right mind, he might have turned in curiosity to see the news reporters in the back of the cathedral clammering for their cameras for the shot of Bruce Wayne comforting the orphan he had taken in, the last person to see Sara Arthur alive- the boy who had lived while an intelligent young lady with a bright future had died.

Did they blame him? How many of them looked at him as the outsider in their circle of important people? The boy who had not been born with the silver spoon and the right connections. The boy who had lived in a circus for the first twelve years of his life. The boy who had been carted away to a private school on the other side of the country.

How many of them blamed him?

"_And He will raise you up on eagles' wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand_."

Communion ended with more words from the priest, and suddenly he was standing as the pallbearers carried Sara's coffin slowly down the aisle of the cathedral to the awaiting hearse for burial in the cemetery. Dick rose and slid out of the pew behind Bruce to walk beside him down the aisle. Alfred already had the limo waiting when they got outside, and they slid into the backseat, waiting in silence for the procession to the gravesite to commence. Dick said nothing. Even if he really wanted to, he wasn't sure he could form the words without a sob erupting from his throat.

Bruce seemed to understand this, saying nothing as well, but still watching his adopted son carefully, wondering what he could say to the boy to comfort him. He himself had been in similar situations, had buried friends over the years, even one or two he had failed to protect, but all words flew from his mind. He _felt_ the need to comfort, but knew no words to do the job, so he simply watched Dick look out the window, watching the trees turn to gravestones, his eyes weary and sad, but dry yet.

Alfred pulled the car behind a black Lincoln and climbed out, walking around the car to open the door for them. Bruce stepped out and turned to wait for Dick, but he did not move for a long time, but kept his eyes focused on the stones around him. Only when he finally turned toward Bruce could he see that the boy's face was pale, his eyes shining. Perhaps this was getting to him?

"Are you all right, Master Richard?"

Dick nodded without saying a word and stepped out of the car, not seeming to notice when Bruce again wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He walked in a daze, his mind completely blank, his eyes seeing nothing, until they were within sight of the casket once more. Then he stopped, and stared confusedly around him.

"Flowers," he said to himself. "I was going to bring flowers." He looked back toward the car.

"I have them, Master Richard," Alfred told him gently, displaying a small bouquet of daisies, Sara's favorite, to be left on the casket. Dick nodded absently, prompting Bruce and Alfred to exchange a worried glance before taking their places in the small congregation around the open plot.

The words of the priest were only a murmur in Dick's ears. Even though he looked forward, his eyes saw nothing. He was in a vacuum, seeing and hearing nothing, moving only automatically forward with Bruce to lay his bouquet on the casket before it would be lowered into the ground, then following the pressure of the hand on his shoulder to guide him toward the parents to offer his condolences.

He didn't even realize that anyone was trying to get his attention until Bruce stopped his slow trek back to the car and motioned toward a tall sandy-haired teenager walking swiftly toward him with his hands buried in the pockets of his black suit.

"Hey, Egghead." Brian Taylor towered over Dick, his green eyes watching him blurrily from his drawn face. "I'm surprised to see you here."

Dick winced as though taking a blow to the stomach, his face twisting in pain.

"I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Well, yeah. I just meant-." The athlete scratched the back of his head, his eyes lingering on Dick's immobilizer. "I heard you were still in the hospital."

"I was released a few days ago."

"You okay, then?"

"Yeah."

An awkward silence fell between the two who had not spoken in a year, prompting Bruce to excuse himself to speak with an acquaintance attempting to get his attention. Silence continued between the two friends, while Dick avoided Brian's eyes, seeing only accusations in them, though none were spoken.

"Look, Dick, my parents are leaving, so-."

"Yeah. Good seeing you."

"You too. You going to be in town for a while?"

Dick nodded.

"Well, cool. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

A forced smile, then Brian moved on, rejoining his parents, who nodded in Dick's direction with thin smiles. Did they blame him too? Did everybody blame him? Dick stared around the dispersing mourners, feeling that all their eyes fell on him.

Dropping his gaze, Dick walked slowly back to the car, feeling Bruce move to follow him, but without waiting or even looking back.

Communion song is "On Eagles' Wings," a Catholic hymnal


	8. Chapter 8 Soliloquy

The circus is like a family, you live together, work together, laugh together, and mourn together. And when you leave, you leave part of yourself behind. I thought my life was over when my parents died, not just because they were gone, but because I lost my entire family as well. And when Bruce took me in, I thought everyone outside the circus was like him, too busy to take notice of a young kid with nobody to care for him. Not many people know that, that Bruce Wayne was a horrible father. I don't think he knew what he was doing. He never had a real childhood, and was raised by Alfred. Maybe he thought ignoring me like that was how a child should be raised, though I doubt very much Alfred treated him that way all those years ago. Plus, I know he remembers his own parents- there's no way they treated him like that. It's strange to think that he simply had so much on his mind that he didn't really consider me. I mean, this is a guy who could put together a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in just a few hours. Then again, you could drop a bomb on the house and he probably wouldn't notice it until the puzzle was done. I wonder, sometimes, what would have become of him had his parents survived that night.

Anyway, I'm not sure just why he started to take an interest in me, whether it was Alfred finally sitting him down and telling him he needed to look after his young ward, or when I tried to track down Zucco on my own. I never really thought about it, but I guess it would explain a lot about our relationship. Does he look on me as a son or an ally?

It took me a long time to realize what he meant to me beyond a benefactor. Until my life was taken from me for the second time, when I allowed Slade to turn me against everything Bruce had taught me, to protect my team, my friends. That's when I realized Bruce was a father to me, someone I looked up to. I realized that every fight we had was the same any son would have with his father when he's ready to be a man.

I never told Bruce what happened, but I think he has an idea that something happened. He called me a few weeks after that, totally by chance. I almost didn't recognize his voice, because it wasn't Batman calling his protégé. It was Bruce Wayne, calling his ward, like he has this sixth sense and knew something wasn't right with me.

How could I tell him? What words do you use to tell Batman, the force that keeps crime at bay in Gotham City, of all places, without losing his own humanity, that Robin, the boy he raised and trained, had joined the very crime element he had sworn to bring down in order to save a bunch of friends who, by rights, would never have allowed such a decision to be made in the first place? That's not to say I think I made the wrong decision. If their lives were at stake, I'd do it again in an instant.

The problem is, sometimes it's hard to make a distinction between the man and the cowl. Batman would have been disappointed, but Bruce? What would he have done? I guess I'll never know.

I guess I'm looking for the wrong thing. I'm trying not to disappoint Bruce, and I'm forgetting to make him proud. Maybe in the end, that's what he really wants, not a sidekick, not a protégé, but a son to pick up where he left off.

I had this Uncle Slappy once, not a real uncle, but a clown in the circus who was close with my parents and used to let me tag along with him when my parents were rehearsing. He's the one who actually taught me gymnastics. It was for fun at first, jumping on the trampoline with the rest of the Laughter Brigade, singing some silly song and doing flips in the air. I didn't realize he was preparing me for the trapeze and highwire.

When I was six, Uncle Slappy left the circus. He had a daughter somewhere and was going to find her. I saw him just before he left, his face clean of makeup, which was strange because I rarely saw him without at least a smudge behind his ear that he missed with his rag. And he wasn't smiling, wasn't singing. Didn't even have a squirting flower on his lapel. It was strange, like he was a whole different person. He was just a normal guy in a cheap suit, trying to pull his life together.

Batman is like Uncle Slappy, but with a more expensive suit. He's spent the last eight years getting me ready for the center ring, teaching me the basics I'll need to get there so he can take a break, maybe pull his life together. The question is, which arena does he see me performing in? Real life? Or crimefighting?


End file.
